


All of the Salmonella

by linzackles



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Brio get lit, Counter Sex, F/M, Kitchen Sex, No Angst, Some Fluff, Weed Smoking, actual! discussion!, against Rio's will, baking together, but discussion of past angst, high Brio, some Rio POV, some getting to know each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: “I didn’t say I wanted no fuckin brownies.”“That’s because I didn’t ask.”ORBeth celebrates her brand new divorce with Rio and a nickel bag.





	All of the Salmonella

**Author's Note:**

> After rewatching Rio talking about his operation in 106, I wanted a high!Brio fic sooooo I figured I better write it?

 

**_You said you have people who sell herbs, right?_ **

**_You cooking, ma?_ **

**_Hilarious._ **

Beth taps her foot but he doesn’t reply so she sends off another text, remembering how he’d referred to it the night he’d explained flipping his game.

**_Nickel bags._ **

She’s sure he’s going to leave her on read when his response suddenly comes through: just an address.

Beth chews at her lip for a second before grabbing her keys and heading out.

 

* * *

 

“That’s her,” he tells Justin.

The kids looks unsure. “And she’s ok?”

“If I said it then she is, right?”

This seems to put the fear of god in him and he quickly jogs over to the momma van as Rio waits in the shadows.

He can see how paranoid she is all the way from over here, and he can’t help the smile that his lips turn up into. She fumbles with her wallet and the kid looks almost as nervous and Rio wonders who in the hell would think Elizabeth Boland could be a cop. This is why Justin ain’t going nowhere in his organisation.

Rio can see his breaths in front of him and regrets not wearing a beanie tonight. But she’d caught him by surprise – in more ways than one – and now he’s freezing his ass off on a corner with his dumbass nickel bag kid. Ain’t life grand.

Finally the transaction seems done and the kid comes jogging back over, looking relieved. Rio shakes his head in amusement, not least because Elizabeth is still parked, fumbling with something and generally looking like she’s just bought a kilo of cocaine.

Finally having decided on where to stash the weed – the glove compartment felt too obvious but her pocket seemed too incriminating – Beth checks out her reflection in the mirror, pushing her hair back behind her ears as she exhales.

_Ok. That hadn’t been too bad._

“Y’know, generally you wanna get away from the scene as soon as the drop is done.”

Beth jolts out of her seat then glares at Rio as he laughs from outside her window.

“Shit! You scared me!” she admonishes.

“Yea, that’s what you wanna avoid, sweetheart.”

“What are you _doing_ here?”

He stares at her like this is both a dumb question and one she’s absolutely never allowed to ask him.

She stares back – that’s practically the only thing she ever says to him.

He smirks. “Customer survey.” He leans into her car, resting his elbows on the windowsill. “How happy were you with your service?”

She glares. “Get in.”

His smirk is slow and pleased.

Then he pulls away equally as slowly and rounds the car.

Beth holds her breath.

* * *

 

“So what’s the occasion?”

Beth glances over. He’s staring at the road, so she goes back to doing so too.

She clears her throat. “I’m officially a divorcee.”

“Ain’t that cause for celebration?”

Yes. No. Yes. She doesn’t know.

She nods.

“We’re doing something tomorrow night. Tonight Annie’s got Sadie, and Ruby has date night with Stan.”

Rio nods slowly. “So your one girl’s with her kid and the other’s with her husband and you ain’t got either?”

She shifts, her hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“See why I needed the herbs?”

He laughs. “Please stop calling it that.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling as she speeds up.

* * *

Rio settles on a stool quickly, so he has time to watch her enter.

They’d come in through the back, making him wonder if she’s this paranoid when she’s washing his cash.

She steps in hesitantly and he takes in every inch of her. The dark blue wrap dress ends a bit higher than her dresses normally do, which is probably why she’s wearing stockings beneath. Her sleeves are long but the dress dips just a little, showing the snowy peaks of her breasts.

She seems to finally notice his stare and shifts her weight, producing the little bags of weed and putting them on the counter. Rio had come prepared. He gets the tips and rolling paper out then gets to work.

“Guessing you ain’t smoked in a while if you needed help finding a guy?” he makes conversation.

He wouldn’t usually, but she’s just standing there and her nerves are getting on his.

“Actually, I figured I should support a local entrepreneur,” she responds, a bit huffily.

He smirks. “And just coincidentally help your own bottom line, huh?”

She scoffs. “I _wish_ any of your side businesses gave me any profit.”

He chuckles under his breath. She’s right; he’s just teasing.

“ _Think global, support local_ ,” she recites, a bit proudly.

He glances up. “That some shit suburban mommas say?”

She looks even huffier now, folding her arms.

“I _know_ you’ve heard that before.”

He doesn’t say anything, re-focusing on what he’s doing. He may have seen a poster somewhere, but he ain’t telling her that.

Beth nibbles on the inside of her lip. The anxiety from the purchase is gone, replaced by the realisation that Rio is in her house. And not to talk business or threaten her or anything like that. This time he’s just _here_ , because she’d invited him, and her heart is beating so fast that she thinks it may jump right out of her throat.

She fastens her eyes on the joint he’s busy preparing, knowing it’s the answer to her haywire nerves.

“And for your information, no. I’ve only actually smoked once, with Ruby. We wanted to try it out. It was horrible.”

He makes a small sound of amusement but doesn’t say anything, and she thinks back to that day behind the library. They’d thought they were _so cool_ , trying out something so illicit one of Dean’s friends had sold to them. The fact that they were doing it behind the nerdiest spot in school and with no one to witness their supposed coolness hadn’t even crossed their minds. Although thank god no one had been there to see it because they’d sputtered and hated it, inhaling only twice before putting it out and promptly swearing never to do it again.

Ruby had, years later, but Beth stuck with her promise. It had tasted horrible and, worse still, had made her feel like she was on autopilot in her own body. Later she’d gone into a full-on panic attack when she realised how stupid it had been to let go of her control like that. Beth liked having both hands on the steering wheel at all times.

But tonight she wanted that feeling again; wanted to let go and get out of her mind.

She watches Rio’s hands work, strong and confident; defter than he has any right to be. She wishes he could just be bad at one thing; _anything_. 

“You do that a lot?” she decides to ask.

“Used to.”

“Not anymore?”

“Naw.”

“How come?”

He shrugs. “Grew up. Got ambitious. Wanted to be a good example. Take your pick.”

“…But you’re going to now, right?” She panics a little. “You can’t make me do it alone. Isn’t that, like, a stoner law or something?”

Rio shakes his head in amused derision.

“Please stop talkin.”

She folds her arms, annoyed, and is surprised when he bursts into spontaneous laughter.

“…Why are you laughing?”

“Cuz I ain’t done this in years.” He stares at her like this should convey the source of his amusement, but she shakes her head in confusion. “ _You_ the bad influence now, sweetheart. How’s it feel?”

She tries to roll her eyes through the blush, which annoyingly seems to only make him more amused.

Then he sits back, rolling his shoulders.

“A’ight, gimme the lighter.”

Beth frowns. “What do you mean? Don’t you have one?”

“Naw, mami, I don’t smoke.”

“You had the rolly paper thingy!”

Rio stares at her. Had she fuckin expected him to stop off at the 7-Eleven too?

“You bought weed but you ain’t got no lighter?”

“I don’t smoke, either!”

She looks nonplussed, before a sort of determination seems to fill her eyes.

“Give it to me.”

With a frown, he hands it over and watches as she lights up one of the gas stove plates. Being very careful, she slowly inches the perfectly compact joint a tiny bit closer to the flame, rotating it slowly as it catches alight.

Beth turns to the sound of Rio laughing hard, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking.

“That’s the most ghetto thing I ever seen.”

She rolls her eyes and he’s still laughing as he gives her instructions.

“Take a hit then light it again or we gonna lose the cherry, darlin.”

Beth does as he says then immediately bursts into a coughing fit.

By the time she catches her breath, she realises he’s just staring at her in amusement, his head on his palm.

Getting herself together, she draws herself to her full height before taking another long hit. Thankfully it goes down better, but he still looks amused.

“The cherry?” she questions as she offers the joint out to him and he hesitates for a moment before taking it.

“The burning end,” he nods.

Rio studies the joint for a second, balanced between his thumb and forefinger, and she can’t figure out why till she spots the light ring of lipstick she’d left on it.

It’s like her mismatched socks all over again and she tries hard to quell the blush that rises anew.

He tips off the ash then meets her eyes when it touches his mouth, but her gaze is stuck on his lips; the way he makes sure to get them past where her lipstick mark ends. To how confidently he inhales then puffs it back out.

His arm extends to pass it back to her but she’s still staring at his lips. She so desperately wants to be on them.

She forces herself to look away then takes it, and they swap it back and forth a few more times, wordlessly.

Beth starts feeling light, really light. Like if she took off her boots, she might just float away.

She realises she’s looking up at the ceiling and it’s kind of pretty, she thinks. Except for in that one spot where she thinks Kenny had tossed up some goo. But otherwise it’s pretty and a little magical, even, with its specks of eggshell and –

She gasps when there’s warm skin on hers and she looks down to find Rio’s hand on hers.

She meets his eyes then looks back down at their hands and it takes about a few more looks before she realises she’s forgotten to pass the joint back to him.

Her eyes are still on his hand on hers when she realises – she doesn’t feel like she’s going to float away anymore.

She passes him the joint and he smiles a little when he takes it, drawing her attention to his laugh lines. There are a lot of them, she realises. She wishes she were responsible for any, but she’s pretty sure there’s a frown line or five that have her – full – name on it.

“You starin, Elizabeth.”

He tries handing the joint back to her, but she shakes her head. It still feels very light.

“I was just wondering whether you wanted to sit down.” He cocks his head and she remembers that he is sitting down. “In the lounge,” she adds, as if that’s what she’d always meant.

Not waiting for an answer, she rounds him then goes to sit on the far end of the couch.

Her skin feels prickly but she ignores it, fastening her gaze to every object in the room that could be hiding the remote control.

It’s when Rio enters, joint-less, that she realises she can barely even operate the thing when she’s _not_ high. Guess they’ll have to have a conversation. Maybe she’ll even get an answer about one real thing out of him.

Rio looks unsure about the seating situation but ends up collapsing onto the other side of the sofa, a little nearer to the middle then she is.

She angles her head towards him then lays it back for safekeeping.

“What do you do?”

“’Scuse me?” he frowns.

“Like when you’re not… _doing what you do_. Supervising warehouses filled with people washing money… or drinking at the same bar or… threatening suburban moms’ lives. You know. _Interests_.”

He smirks then looks away, seeming to consider.

She doesn’t really expect him to answer, but she also doesn’t see why he shouldn’t. What’s the harm in her knowing his hobbies?

“I box.” He rolls his shoulders.

“ _Reallyyyy_?” she asks, and hears her own tone as if from a distance, realising she’s made it sound like the most fascinating titbit in the world.

Rio looks at her funny, like he wants to inform her that she’s so damn high, but just ends up shrugging.

“Yea. When I got time.”

Her glance jumps down to his arms but they’re covered by his black coat. She wants to curse it; wishes she could see his muscles, but she can’t lie – she loves him in a coat.

“How often is that?”

“Less and less since I’ve known you,” he takes the shot.

She scoffs. “It’s not like you free up a whole lot of _my_ time.”

He gives her a pity laugh. “Sure.”

She narrows her eyes. “What, no comment about how you _fill up_ my bank balance?”

Well, metaphorically speaking, anyway.

“I gotta remind you of that?”

“You normally take every opportunity to.”

“Cuz it’s true.”

“And _I_ don’t do anything for _you_?”

It’s a dangerous question, which she only realises after it’s left her lips and he turns to regard her fully.

“Whatchu think you done for me, honey?”

She watches him; feels each rise and fall of her own chest. Hears the crackle of the thousand different ways this can go wrong.

He’s always telling her all he money she’s made is still his, and the last time she’d told him he needed her, he’d held a gun to her throat.

“Well, I keep you on your toes, for starters. Make sure your head doesn’t get too big. That you have a head to point your fancy gun at.”

The tension shatters like glass, his stoic stare breaking with it.

“Yea, doesn’t seem to bother you too much no more, though, huh?” He smiles a little. “Think I gotta find something new to scare you with.”

“Or, you know, you could just… _not_ scare me. That’d be good, too.”

He smirks at her then looks away, but something’s niggling at her, telling her she can’t leave it at that, and it won’t seem to go away.

On instinct she inches forward and it draws his attention.

“Rio.”

She makes sure to put on her quietest voice and softest eyes before speaking up.

“…Why do we always fight?”

She really does genuinely want to know. All their interactions are combative in some way, except for when they’re having sex, and that’s usually because they don’t say anything.

Rio does a double take, then: “Because you never listen.”

Which is… _fair enough_ – but, also, kind of unfair.

“Why do _I_ always have to be the one listening?” she points out. “Why can’t _you_ ever listen to _me_?”

He sighs, long and laboured.

“ _I try_ , baby, but you gonna get yourself killed and then that’s on me.”

His eyes are earnest and she thinks what he’d said had been important too, but right now she’s all the way hung up on the way he’d said baby.

Not condescending like the first time he’d called her that ( _Oh, baby, what you think this is? Little League?_ ). No. Not a quick endearment; something just to say, to call her, no.

It was soft and tender, round around the edges. Everything he barely ever is with her.

“I like high Rio,” she decides.

He sniggers. “Yea?”

“Yeah. He’s nice.”

“I ain’t nice to you usually?” he goads.

“No, you’re mean.”

He rolls his eyes. “Cuz I’m tryna make you not dead, darlin, and that shit’s a full-time job. Knowing you is like havin a newborn.”

She glares hard at him, not appreciating him turning her own line back on her.

Then, realising, she shakes her head resolutely.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, that’s not why you’re mean to me. At least it’s not the only reason. Because that’s not the only times you’re mean to me.”

“That so?”

Beth eyes him. He looks defensive but not combative, which she thinks is safe enough territory. Besides, if she doesn’t say this now, while she’s off her head, she never will.

“Were you protecting me when you pretended like you didn’t care that I was going to prison for murder? Were you protecting me when you came to my dealership and nearly told my husband that we’d had sex? Were you protecting me when you smashed up cars, demanding sixty percent of _my_ business plan?”

He stares straight at her, flexing his jaw.

“Gotta look out for myself too,” he says eventually, voice level.

“ _Look out for_ yourself or forget yourself?”

His gaze isn’t so kind anymore and he pulls up one of his legs onto the sofa, turning fully towards her.

“So tell me this,” he cocks his head, “if I’m nice when I’m nice and I’m just in my feelins when I’m bein mean, how exactly am I supposed to be mean?”

She squares her shoulders.

“Well… you could start with not going into a drug den to retrieve my child’s blanket. Not gifting me all your counterfeit money or all your stuff. _You could maybe even_ not show up when all I wanted was to buy some weed.”

His brow rises. “ _All_ you wanted?”

She tries not to be ruffled.

“…Even if it wasn’t, since when are you Mr People-pleaser?”

His smirk is slow and deliberate.

“Oh, I think you know just how good I am at _pleasing_ people, darlin.”

Is it the weed or just his eyes on her that make her feel his hands on her again? Palm gripping her breast as his fingers dug into her hip and he worked up into her; pressed closer to her.

He moves forward and to her it looks like a leap; she darts backwards reflexively.

It makes him laugh.

“You a paranoid smoker, huh?”

She scoffs, offended.

“Well, at least I’m not myself, just ten percent nicer.”

“Stop callin me nice,” he glares.

Finally registering that he’d tried to get closer to her, Beth closes the distance she’d created. They’re now both in the centre of the sofa. She can smell his soap and aftershave. Somehow it draws her mind back to his fresh sweat as he’d arced up into her; the pure Rio she’d found in the crook of his neck as she’d lapped it up onto her tongue.

She bats her lashes once, twice, then a third time, before putting on her sweet voice; the one she uses to get out of parking tickets.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was bothering you.”

He looks momentarily caught off guard, but she should know better than to think he’d let it slip for any longer.

“That do it for your hubby?”

“What?”

“That cutesy ‘I ain’t done nothin wrong’ voice.”

She smiles, bashful. “I don’t have a husband.”

He smiles too, and the way it slowly slides across his face makes heat dart down between her legs. They may as well be right back in her car, with him asking what someone like her is doing with someone like him.

“Right, right.”

Rio shifts, both physically and tactically. They haven’t spoken about it since the car, and his altered mind for some reason thinks now is the time to ask.

“How you feelin about all that, anyway?”

He watches her turn off her whole Jessica Rabbit vibe – _thank fuck_ , he’s already so hard he can barely think – so she can consider it.

“Relieved,” she admits. “Sad. Scared of everything that’s gonna change.”

“It ain’t that bad,” he offers. “I mean, I wasn’t married for as long as you were–”

“So that _was_ your ex-wife.”

“ _Point is_ ,” he glares, “at the end of the day, anything’s better than stayin with someone you can’t stand.”

She considers. “It wasn’t that I couldn’t stand him. I actually really liked him; he made me laugh, once upon a time.”

 _He joked you right into this boring-ass life you hate_ , he wants to say, but she’s still speaking.

“I didn’t hate him, I just… don’t think I ever really _loved_ him. He never made me feel the way I do when I’m with–”

Her eyes jump up to meet his as she swallows her last word and goddamn, his heart is beating fast. Why’d he make Justin give her the good shit? So good that he wants to tell her to finish that sentence.

_Spit it out, mami. I can make you feel good right now._

Maybe he wants to hear it because of her implication that she _hadn’t_ wanted him to come tonight; that that hadn’t been her intention with the text, and it tugs at him.

But she’s moving closer, her ocean eyes blown, and when her lips hit his he thinks _a’ight, maybe they don’t need the words after all._  

The kiss is unrestrained, dominating, and fucking hell he loves it when she does that. She pushes further onto him, mouth hot and sloppy, and he’s just about to pull her all the way onto his lap when she withdraws.

She’s already staring at him, wide-eyed, by the time his eyes stutter open.

Those doe eyes stare back at him and Rio realises he’s all the way wrecked.

Fuck.

How in the fuck does she turn him into such a mess? _Why_ in the fuck had he thought smoking a joint with her was anywhere north of a goddamn dumb idea?

Her eyes go to his lips and he wants to smirk but his face is fucking numb, so he opens his mouth to tell her to undo her dress, but she beats him to speaking.

“I want cookies.”

Wait, what?

“ _What_?”

“Or brownies,” she whispers to herself, giddy. Then she gasps, loud and sudden, nearly making him jump. “We could make hash brownies!”

He would facepalm if he thought his face would be able to feel his palm.

“You don’t got enough for that, sweetheart. And, besides, you don’t just throw it in, it’s a whole thing.”

Beth cocks her head, intrigued by the fact that he knows that, but the craving is too intense to bother with asking him when exactly he’d baked hash brownies.

“Fine. But we can still make normal brownies. Come on!”

And before he’s had the chance to respond or even process, she’s off the couch with his wrist in her grip, pulling him back into the kitchen.

He goes rigid at the edge of the kitchen and she rolls her eyes, letting go of him in order to go about getting all the ingredients out of the cupboards. She’s on autopilot, not even thinking, laying out flour and cocoa powder; chocolate and choc chips; butter and eggs.

“You ain’t got them boxed mixes?”

She turns and realises she’s completely forgotten Rio’s standing over there.

Then, his words registering, she gasps, offended.

“No! Those aren’t real brownies.”

His glare is half annoyed and half completely puzzled.

“Marcus’ classmates seemed to like em just fine.”

So his son had had bake sales and Rio himself had made something? Beth stores that in a corner of her mind, to explore when she’s not stoned.

“That poor kid. Next time Marcus has a bake sale, I’m in charge.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Aye aye, cap’n.”

“Good. I’d like to hear a little bit more of that while you whip up the sugar and butter.”

“What?”

He’s looking back at her, genuinely lost, and she sighs.

“I’ll do the dry ingredients; you do wet.”

“I’m not followin.”

“Should I talk slower?”

His glare is dangerous, but instead of making her step back like it would’ve once upon a time, it sends thrills through her body.

God, their relationship is so weird.

“You have to help me,” she explains.

“ _I_ didn’t say I wanted no fuckin brownies.”

“That’s because I didn’t ask.” She squares her shoulders and Rio watches her get that no-nonsense look in her eye before she points out the window. “Out there, you’re the boss. In here? I am.”

Her complaint that he never listens to her – a fuckin lie if he’s ever heard one; if anything, he thinks he should listen to her _less_ – fresh in his mind, he rolls his shoulders with a sigh.

“A’ight.”

“Good. So. Butter and sugar. Whip them up.”

He doesn’t look pleased, but he joins her behind the counter and measures out each ingredient as she tells him. Meanwhile she prepares a double boiler; measures out all the dry ingredients.

He seems to notice that she’s not using a recipe.

“You do this a lot, huh?”

“I have four kids. Bake sales are more frequent than the flu.”

“But you like it.”

He says it as a statement but tips his chin, waiting for an answer.

It feels strangely vulnerable to nod.

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

“You ever think of doin it for money?”

His eyes are focused on what he’s doing now, and she falters.

“What do you mean?”

“Like open a bakery or some shit.”

She stares back at him blankly for so long that he looks back up.

“What?” He blinks, all faux innocence. “Should I talk slower?”

“N-no.” She shakes her head, flustered. “ _No_ , I’ve never thought of doing that.”

He smirks like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is and she forces herself to stop thinking it is one.

Only… it had never crossed her mind, not once, to do something like that. She’d always loved baking – found it calming and reliable – and yet never did she think she had the ability to make any sort of living out of it. It had never crossed her mind that anyone would buy anything she’d made.

But he’d just said it, like it was obvious. Like she was talented and she should know it.

She supposes she does, now.

Forcing a throat clear, she tries to relieve the awkward silence.

“I guess stoner wisdom is real.”

He laughs. “I’m always wise, darlin.”

“Uh huh.”

She takes the chocolate over to the double boiler and starts breaking it up.

“What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Have you ever thought about going legit? Going to work at Deloitte, or something?”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’d blow my brains out after an hour.”

They share a smile because _yeah_ , she can’t really see him in a bland accountant’s suit either, tattoo half-hidden behind a staunch collar and a skinny tie.

She turns back to the chocolate and god, does it normally take this long to melt chocolate? It’s been at least an hour by now, right?

It’s in that exact moment when the heat drops down on her like a ton of bricks.

She’s not sure if it’s the double boiler or if menopause has decided to strike at this very moment, but she feels like she’s on fire.

“Is it just me or is it really hot in here?” she complains, fanning herself before immediately reaching for the tie on her dress.

“You’re _high_ , Elizabeth,” Rio points out, amused, but she barely hears him.

She undoes the knot at the side of the wrap dress then immediately pulls it off her, dropping it right where she’s standing. Free of the sleeves and the extra layer, she immediately feels a million times better.

It’s only when Rio looks over, his lips parting as the electric mixer starts spitting butter-sugar everywhere, that she realises what she’s done.

He pulls himself together nearly instantly, turning off the mixer, but his eyes still roam over her body, jumping from her stockinged legs to her bare shoulders; her revealed cleavage to the very short hem of her slip.

It’s silk and something she doesn’t normally wear, but the dress had required it and god, now is she glad for it.

Clearing her throat, Beth grabs a silicone spatula then goes back to the double boiler, stirring. All the chocolate has melted now so she removes the bowl, dries it, then hands it to Rio.

“You have to fold that in. Then you whisk in two eggs by hand.”

He stares at her for a moment longer, this time deliberate, before taking the bowl from her. And, just as deliberately, he lets his thumb linger over hers.

She lets out a short unbidden breath then backs up, hearing the heels of her boots click against the tiles like gongs in her ears.

His glance roves over her body once more before he follows her instructions and she watches him work, impressed by the fact that he knows not to add all the warm chocolate all at once.

Realising that she’ll have to incorporate the dry ingredients next, she goes over to her drawer of aprons and pulls one out. It says ‘Best mom ever’ on the pocket in front, which her kids had presented to her one Mother’s Day. She’s unfolding it, ready to put it on, when Rio suddenly appears in front of her – she’s convinced the man can float or fucking teleport or _something_ – and rips it out of her hands.

“Yea, you don’t need that.”

She stares at him.

“Yes, I do. What if I spill something on myself?”

He presses his hands into his coat pockets. “Yea… I don’t fuckin care, to be real honest.”

She crosses her arms. “Well, I have more aprons.”

“And I can take em too.”

“I’m gonna get my slip dirty!”

“Then don’t spill nothin.”

She glares but he doesn’t let up and she huffs before realising something: he’s pretty overdressed.

“Fine. But if only if you take off your coat.”

He frowns in confusion but then dutifully begins shrugging out of it, revealing a deep purple shirt beneath it. It’s untucked but buttoned all the way up, the way she’s become so damn attracted to him dressing. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so drawn to a man with an untucked shirt, but he basically exists to make her question and change her mind about everything about herself, right?

Rio drapes his coat over the counter and, annoyed with how unperturbed he looks, she clears her throat.

“And your belt.”

His brow jumps up, more puzzled than smug and she’s not sure how it’s relevant either, to be honest, but she wasn’t about to ask him to drop his pants.

“Wait,” she says when his hands go down to his belt.

She steps forward, first one foot then another, till they’re chest to chest.

Beth feels him tense as she reaches behind him and grips his gun. She pulls it from his waistband then places it down on the counter beside them.

Next she reaches for his belt buckle, undoing it from the loop. Involuntarily he keens forward and she shoots him a look up through her lashes before removing the belt and placing it atop his coat and gun.

“What is this, some fucked-up game of strip poker?” he asks, his voice even huskier than usual.

She shrugs. “Better than 20 Questions.”

Now they’re both smirking and she stays close for just a second longer, taking one more breath of his hypnotic scent, before backing up again.

“I’m going to need you to add those eggs so I can add the flour.”

“You like ordering me around, huh?”

“Learned from the best,” she winks, and he half-rolls his eyes before turning back to his bowl.

She watches with surprise when he cracks both eggs one-handed, using the other to whisk each in. It weirdly turns her on as she tries to remember Dean ever cracking an egg without using both hands and several utensils to retrieve all the resulting eggshell.

When Rio’s done, he holds the bowl out to her and she takes it, making sure to avoid touching him altogether. If her nipples are perking just at him _cracking eggs_ , all bets are off.

She folds in the flour mixture, making sure it’s all incorporated, then gathers all the empty bowls and heads to the sink with them. She’s running hot water into them all, especially the one with the chocolate beginning to harden again, when she suddenly notices a reflection in the window.

Rio’s come to stand behind her, watching her, and at first she’s reminded of that night he’d been waiting outside, sitting on her table; ready to threaten her for his pills. But then her memory goes to later that night and she can’t help it, she bursts into giggles.

Rio frowns. “Somethin funny?”

“Yes,” she giggles, barely able to speak. “You standing behind me, here, is funny.”

He still looks confused. “How’s that funny?”

Managing to pull herself together, she turns around with the hope that her explanation will make any sort of sense.

“The night after you came to the dealership, I was so horny. I came home and… Dean was… there.”

She gestures in the general direction of the lounge, even though that’s not what she means and they both know it.

Dean had been here instead of Rio, and he hadn’t been antagonistic or condescending and for a moment it had felt nice. It had seemed like what she wanted. That and a cock.

But it had only taken a few seconds for her to realise it wasn’t that simple. She couldn’t just substitute what she wanted for what she had.

“He fucked you over the sink?”

“…He did his best.”

Rio turns up his nose.

“That’s nasty.”

 “It was, kind of.”

Because she’d been thinking about him and it had been so incongruent; Dean wasn’t Rio in the slightest.

He hadn’t roughly palmed her breasts or dug his teeth into her neck and, god, he definitely hadn’t filled her anywhere close to the way Rio had. It had been a dollar-store knockoff and she’d felt silly and unsatisfied afterwards.

With the shower running, she’d touched herself to the memory of the real thing; Rio’s breath in her ear as he rocked all the way up into her, over and over until –

“Then why didn’t you let me take care of you, mami?” he drawls, and she shoots a glare.

“Oh, please.”

She forces the memory away now, going to collect the utensils they’d used.

Rio sighs as she adds them into the bowls.  

“You know it wasn’t about the money?”

And she spins because that’s _enough_. She’s not stupid, she’d known what he’d been doing.

“You’re really gonna try and convince me that wasn’t a negotiation tactic?”

He shakes his head, quick and sure.

“Naw, it was the god’s honest truth, ma.”

Her lips turn up unkindly.

“Funny, then, that you left right after I gave you the key.”

He studies her.

“I could tell you was in no kinda mood for me.”

Beth ruffles, half turning back around before biting at her lip and turning back to face him again.

He’s not wrong. There’s nothing he could’ve said that night to make her trust him again.

She draws a breath.

“Yes, well… I saw you with the girl.”

“What girl?”

“The one. With the car. Who you hugged.”

Realisation seems to dawn before an expression she can’t place crosses his face.

“Oh, you was watchin me, huh?” He shrugs. “She an old friend.”

“A _friend_?”

“Fine, more. But not no more.”

She studies him for a second, not really sure whether to believe him or not; not really sure whether it matters.

“Uh huh.”

Taking a washcloth, she goes to clean the counter of anything they’d messed.

“Guess it’s safe to say you ain’t one of em cute jealous types then, huh?”

She freezes, her lips the only thing moving as they part in a horrified gasp.

“I wasn’t jealous!”

He laughs meanly.

“That a fact?”

God, he’s frustrating.

“Add the choc chips,” she demands, turning to rinse out the washcloth.

She’s relieved when she hears him actually do so behind her, but the quiet doesn’t last for long.

“So you was jealous, didn’t talk to me about it so we could clear it up, came home and fucked your sorry-ass husband instead of getting up on that desk with me, probably didn’t come – and somehow all that made you laugh? Sounds like a fuckin horror story to me.”

She’s practically quivering with anger by the time he finishes speaking and she tosses the washcloth into the sink, wishing it were a pair of keys she could aim at his face again.

“You know what’s _hilarious_? The idea of talking to you and having anything _cleared up_.”

He cocks his head.

“Ain’t that what we just did?”

She’s fumbling for a response to that when he holds up the box that had contained the choc chips.

She turns her glare up to eleven to grab it from him but he’s too quick, catching her wrist with his free hand and yanking her over, as easily as if she’s a rag doll.  

“Whatchu want? You want me to apologise?”

His tone is soft again for the first time in what feels like forever and it makes her hesitate; makes her anger drift away so fast, she can’t catch it and pull it back.

“Are you sorry?”

“For hugging a girl?”

Shit.

Because that’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it?

Even if he’d been nice to her about the delivery, she still would’ve been too curious about the car’s contents not to stay and watch. And even if he hadn’t held a gun to her head and told her he didn’t need her, they still would’ve ended up at Boland Motors, with her feeling manipulated and betrayed.

Then again…

“For being so infuriating.”

He smirks. “You don’t like it?”

She’s too hot and wet – already clenching for him – to say no to that, so she says nothing.

He moves closer and her eyes go to his lips before making their way up to his eyes. His pupils are so much bigger than usual and they’re filled with curiosity.

“Tell me, Elizabeth, and don’t lie.” Her eyes widen as he takes a breath. “Tonight – did you want the drugs or me?”

She falters, blinking; hating the hold he has on her, both literally and figuratively.

She thinks back to the moment just before she’d texted him. Had she been thinking about him or being high?

And the truth is, she doesn’t know. She’d _known_ he would show, she’d known it – or, at least, she’d desperately hoped for it. Had told herself that if he really did still feel anything for her, he’d be there.

But she doesn’t know what she’d _wanted_ more. She remembers wanting to be free; to stop feeling gravity pushing down on her.

So she answers honestly.

“Is there a difference?”

He looks surprised but impressed by the answer; even pleased, maybe, and she pulls away when he starts leaning down.

“I have to throw this away.”

She breaks free from his grip with a breath of relief, tossing the choc-chip box in the bin before pressing her eyes closed.

What is she doing?

 _God_. He’s so, so much worse than the weed.

He’s like something she injects right into her veins and right now her body is begging her for more. She wants him. She wants him so damn much.

She’s an addict. She’d known that all along. But crime isn’t her addiction.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Elizabeth.”

Her eyes open at her name and it takes a whole second for her to realise what had sparked the way her back straightens.

He sounds pissed off.

It makes her turn, catching sight of his indeed fuming expression.

“How we gonna bake brownies when the oven ain’t on?” he growls out, before setting his mouth in a thin unimpressed line.

It makes her want to laugh long and loud and also kiss him until neither of them can breathe.

He’s so upset about something so dumb while she’d been angsting about a million different things and now he looks so dangerous and sexy – and, really, doesn’t that sum up their entire relationship?

She takes a step forward; her tone light. “So now you want brownies?”

Rio clicks his tongue. “You can’t promise someone brownies and then not give em any.”

She smiles and reaches into a drawer for two spoons before making her way all the way over to him.

“You know, there’s another way to eat brownies.”

He looks from her and the spoons to the batter. His eyes are uncertain.

“Ain’t this stuff dangerous?”

“Says the guy with the gun.”

“I’m serious. Some virus or some shit.”

She nods. “Salmonella.”

Beth holds out one spoon and he hesitates before taking it, watching her dip hers into the batter.

She raises a brow daringly and he sighs, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like _fuck it_ , before also getting a spoonful of batter.

She presses hers into her mouth, watching his eyes go down to her lips, and licks the spoon clean slowly.

He does too, a little quicker, and she watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You right, this way better than the boxed shit.”

She steps closers.

“Even with _all of the_ salmonella?”

He smiles and it’s the cute one; the one she willingly let into her heart. “Hmm-mm.”

She places her spoon down then instantly moves her hands to his shirt, undoing the top button and then the three below it before he’s even placed his spoon down. He comes closer and there’s so much heat between them, they’re an electrical fire even before his lips hit hers. Her head is spinning and she’d like to say it’s the marijuana but it’s him, it’s him, it’s always him.

Her hands go up as his go down – her fingers curl around his head; his dig into her thighs and then suddenly she’s on the counter. And then it is the weed because it’s like they’re going two hundred miles per hour and moving in slow motion at the exact same time. Her hands tug and pull at his buttons till he’s shirtless and she’s exploring his taut chest. He bunches her slip at her hips then moves his hands over her stomach, caressing and pressing and driving her mad.

Their kiss is rough and she loves it but she has to pull away, letting her lips go to that corner of his neck she’s obsessed with. Then his hands are pulling at the silk, insistent, and she leans back to let him pull it up and off her, followed closely by her bra. She kisses away the sound that comes from his throat when her breasts are free and his hands sear over her chest.

“Rio,” she sobs into his mouth, high and uncontrolled.

“Fuck,” he groans and then there’s a snap and her stockings are hanging somewhere around her calves.

She shifts forward and he pulls her even closer, both their hands jumping to his jeans. It’s gone in a second, his briefs after a breath, and she wants to touch him but he growls out “Naw”, slaps her hand away and she stops breathing.

The room is spinning again as he tears off her panties and she finds his mouth as he enters her, hard and thick, and suddenly she’s no longer off kilter.

She pulls back to stare at him and, with his eyes blown and lips parted; chin tilted up and throat revealed, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this out of control.

“I like high Rio,” she whispers, licking the taste of his mouth off her lips.

He laughs and even it’s wrecked, breathy and broken, and she’s so obsessed that she presses it to her lips; sucks it onto her tongue.

They’re going slow, her calf slung over his hip, and then he’s on top of her and she thinks there’s a spoon pressed into her back but it doesn’t matter because he’s pounding into her; pulling her and dropping her and her hips meet his frenzy. There’s clattering as things drop to the floor around them but all she can think about is the way he’s filling and stretching her, his tongue working its way over her chest.

Rio’s teeth grate over her nipples and her back arches; he adjusts his angle accordingly and _god_ , he feels so good, she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on.

He bites into her ribcage and she cries out, her nails digging deep into the back of his neck.

“ _Elizabeth_ ,” he growls, and she swears it’s what pushes her right over.

Her body starts to shake and he’s cursing into her ear, pulling it into his mouth as he lets go too; her nails dragging down his back as her quivering lips form his name over and over.

He’s kissing her when he goes rigid and something makes her reach down for his ass, squeezing as the last of her orgasm ebbs and flows through her body.

Then she drops back, boneless, her eyes closed as the world starts spinning again – or maybe it’s just fuzzy, she doesn’t know; can’t be tempted to care.

It’s a minute – or maybe an hour, _fuck, what even is time anymore_ – when she feels his lips whisper over hers in more of a touch than a kiss and her eyes flutter open to catch him looking at her like she’s an entire galaxy.

His hand goes to her hair and of course he slowly pushes her fringe out of the way before caressing her cheek, shooting a gentle shiver up her back.

“What the fuck are you, Elizabeth Boland?” he asks, brow furrowed deep like he’s really doing his best to figure her out.

She swallows once then twice, realising her throat is dry as hell.

“Rio.”

He was looking over her body but now his eyes jump up to hers questioningly; attentively.

She clears her throat.

“I think there’s a spoon under me.”

His eyes widen just a fraction before he bursts into laughter and she’s not exactly sure what’s funny when she already feels bruised everywhere else, never mind where the piece of steel is still digging into her lower back.

He’s still laughing, loud and rumbly, when he reaches under her to retrieve it, lifting her by the ass like it’s nothing.

“Mami, you a trip,” he laughs, tossing the spoon over his shoulder. It pings as it hits the tile. And he must realise that Beth once again has no earthly idea what he finds amusing because finally he adds: “You know I’m _bleedin_ , right?”

“What??”

She scrambles up but he pushes her back down, opting to shift so she can see the entire left side of his body littered with tiny flaming red crescents. It goes from his neck – where the wounds are deepest and double – to gashes down his back and then neat little punctures on his (literally perfect) ass.

She sucks her lip into her mouth guiltily then meets his expression with the biggest Bambi eyes she can manage and her most apologetic tone.

Her _cutesy ‘I ain’t done nothin wrong’ voice_ , he’d called it.

“…Guess I’m an aggressive smoker?”

“Sweetheart, you paranoid, delirious, aggressive and everythin in between. You cut off. Ain’t none of my boys in the city who will ever sell you none o’ my shit again.”

Lifting her brow, she pulls a hand up into his neck, slowly; slowly.

“Oh, I’m cut off?”

Her other hand lowers and he bites his lip, cutting off a moan. She’s done two solid strokes before she pulls away entirely and his eyes jump open to glare actual death at her.

Stifling a giggle, she shrugs. “I should probably turn on the oven.”

She lifts up a little but he grabs her with both hands, holding her solidly in place.

His eyes are narrowed, daring her to oppose him, and she tilts her neck up and closer, till her lips are pressed to his and she can feel his warm breath mixing with hers. And again the air is alive with all the moment’s possibilities, sizzling like a cherry.

She smiles.

“Roll us another?"

**Author's Note:**

> Any good?


End file.
